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tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
aenseidhe) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
[OPEN] I just want to play on my pan-pipes
Characters: Iorveth and YOOOU
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
no subject
[Or anything that deems someone worthy by the merit of the feats of their ancestors. Would that the world relied on the ideology of a meritocracy.]
They are considerably more trouble than they are worth.
no subject
[ Because what is any government besides a monarchy. Granted, there have been plenty of usurping done by other noble families. Whoever has the larger army. It is what it is. ]
Considering the crafts they do seem to manage are often shite in comparison to Dwarven or Elven make, yes.
no subject
[Iorveth, let her tell you about presidencies. ... Actually, on second thought, don't, because her vitriolic hatred of Taraki could probably warp the fabric of space-time as we know it.]
Elves and Dwarves. Fictions, in my world.
no subject
[ After Enid an Gleanna had handed the Scoia'tael, the Aen Seidhe's own youth, over to be slaughtered, he'd sworn never to trust another idealistic ruler spouting freedom and equality and safe haven. He hadn't had a hope he'd live to see the day the Aen Seidhe's fate would be anything but staring down a spear. But Saskia had been another thing entirely - not a warrior or royal, not a rebel leader, not some one looking for title, profit, or anything more or less than what is right. She didn't even belong to the conflict, could have flown miles away and had nothing to do with it. Nobility in the truest sense of it. It brings a sort quirk of his lips that might have been a smile, but he'll take a sip of his tea to hide it, doot dee doo ]
And Gnomes, Dryads, Dragons, Vran. A sundry of others that humans don't often take note of before ploughing through their land to claim it as their own.
no subject
[She tilts her head. It's an oddly calculating gesture, performed as she takes another sip of tea.]
Who was yours?
[And she is curious. The sorts of people who deserve leadership are rare to come by, and too often they die before their time while others less worthy live on in their place. In a way, she's glad she did not long survive Fahd.]
It is a human trait. They concern themselves more with expansion than with keeping what they already have.
[She's hardly setting herself apart from the race specifically, but from the foolishness? Absolutely.]